


Keyed to Your Will

by Natasha_Von_Lecter



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-07
Updated: 2015-06-27
Packaged: 2018-03-16 17:42:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3497108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Natasha_Von_Lecter/pseuds/Natasha_Von_Lecter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Well, Here’s my first OUAT fanfic - I’ve written a ton of Lecter Fic and Snape fic over the years, but it looks like it’s time to start writing Rumbelle! This fic will eventually be rated M. It was loosely insipired by Rufeepeach’s lovely fic Unskilled but Caring Hands. Belle is presented with a child to look after. She eventually decides she wants a child of her own and decides to make a deal with Rumplestiltskin. Please let me know what you think!    </p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The first time he brings home a child, she is horrified. She hasn’t been with him long, hasn’t had time to fully realize the heart beating inside his chest, while battered and fierce, is distinctly human. In the future, it would shame her to admit it, but now she is worried the squalling infant is destined for his cauldron, to be a key ingredient in some dark potion. He presses the fussy babe into her arms, muttering that she won’t need to care for it long. Her jaw drops open but he reaches gently under her chin, and coaxes her mouth closed, whispering, “Careful, Dearie. You’ll catch flies.”

As he strides quickly away, leaving her clutching the infant, she finally finds her voice, “Where on earth did you get it, Rumplestiltskin?” she demands. It’s a moment before he turns, and slowly walks back to her. His eyes study the floor stones, and she thinks perhaps he is ashamed. But when his gaze finally meet hers, she is taken aback by the raw pain she sees writ in his strange amber eyes. In a voice far more human than she is used to, he says simply, “He wasn’t wanted.” And then he is gone, and she is left rocking the agitated child, wondering how on earth one cares for such a tiny, new life.

She gets used to it. He’s provided milk and the means to feed it to the child by way of cloths that the child learns to suckle. It’s much less fussy when its belly is full. She enjoys bathing him – the warm water soothes him almost as well as a meal, and she marvels at the softness of his skin. He splashes his chubby little legs, drenching her hair. She knows she’s a mess, but she can’t help but laugh. The sensation of being watched prickles against her skin, and she turns to find Rumplestiltskin leaning against the doorway. It’s gone in a heartbeat, but she would swear she saw a look of longing travel across his countenance. She wraps the babe in a towel and holds him out to The Dark One.

"Will you take him for a moment, please?"

If her request surprises him, he hides it well. He takes the child from her, and tucks it protectively against his chest. She notes the way he cradles the child’s head, supporting it easily without holding too tight. Suddenly she is absolutely certain he’s done this before. He was a father. He’s never been comfortable being looked at for too long, and there is a slight edge to his voice when he asks her “Something the matter, Dearie?” She looks away, toweling her hair which has started to frizz abominably.

"He likes you."

"Yes, well, he likes warm things and things that feed him. Babies aren’t exactly sterling judges of character. And anyways, he’ll be gone tomorrow." He sees her stiffen, and knows she’s trying to formulate a question. She doesn’t want to offend him, wants to think the best of him, but he can’t blame her for seeing a monster. Still, it rankles him. He has done very little good in the world, but it still hurts to have his every motive questioned. He understands it, but he doesn’t like it. Before she can give voice to her concerns, he barks, “No harm will come to the child. I may be a monster, but I’m not completely heartless.”

She startles. She wonders, sometimes, if he can read her thoughts. It unsettles her. Still, she is brave. She pushes her trepidation to the side, and moves closer to him. Rumple glowers at her, but the effect is ruined when the child reaches up and begins to tug at his hair. Belle laughs, more enthusiastically than is strictly ladylike. He does not laugh, but he stops glaring at her, and instead looks down at the child in his arms. Her laugh makes his heart clench and he has to remind himself she is not laughing AT him. Belle is many things, but cruelty is not in her nature. The fight goes out of him and he quietly tells her he has found a suitable family for the child. If she is surprised, she does not show it, but she does smile widely at him. Her smile undoes him. He hands her the child and flees the room, careful to keep his steps slow enough to seem natural. No one likes a coward.

He allows her to accompany him when he gives the child over to its new family. He knows she relishes the chance to leave the castle, even when it’s only to visit a humble village on the edge of his lands. If he’s honest, he takes her along because he doesn’t wish her to worry over the child’s fate. Or he doesn’t wish her to bother him with her worry, which is nearly the same thing. He takes the child from her arms, careful not to brush against her in the exchange, and presents him to his new parents. The baker and his wife beam happily and express their thanks. Belle smiles, comforted, but she feels a little tug in her heart. Her hand subconsciously strays to her belly. She’ll miss the child more than she expected. She hadn’t given much thought to children of her own, but now that the possibility has been taken from her she finds she mourns it. Still, it is a happy day; she chooses to focus on that instead of this unexpected, surprisingly strong ache. 

The baker and his wife retreat inside and Belle and Rumple make their way back through the forest. Feeling impulsive, she reaches for his arm. Part of him wants to shake her off and sneer; another wants to draw her closer. He compromises, and lets her thread her arm through his, their sides brushing as they walk. She breaks the silence first.

“They seemed happy.”

"They’ve wanted a child for a long time."

"What did they offer you in exchange for the boy?"

He doesn’t want to have this conversation with her. He has few soft spots, few weaknesses, and it goes against his nature to share them willingly. He could bend the truth, but he doesn’t wish to lie to her, either. It’s hard to lie when he’s looking into those impossibly big, innocent blue eyes.

"They offered to give him a loving home. They aren’t wealthy, but he’ll always have bread, and he’ll always be warm."

Love, food, and warmth. She wonders how many of those he did without as a child. She wants to hold him, then. Calm him. Settle him, just like she did with the babe in her arms. She knows it’s reckless and ill-advised, but Belle has always favored bravery. Without any warning, she throws her arms around his neck and draws him into an embrace. He stiffens, his arms hanging awkwardly at his sides, but she just holds him tighter. After long, drawn out seconds, she feels his arms rise. He lays one across her upper back, and, tentatively, around her waist. His touch is so light, she almost thinks it exists only in her imagination. She leans slightly back, and his arms fall away – it’s almost as if he’s afraid to hold her. As if he expects her to come to her senses and bolt from him. Instead she leans up and presses her soft, warm lips against his cheek in a chaste kiss. She whispers, “You’ve done a very good thing, Rumplestilstkin.”

His thoughts at the moment are very far from chaste. He may be The Dark One, but he’s still a man. His blood runs hot when she touches him. He’d still like to feel her moving underneath him. Or above him. Oh gods, the image burns itself into the back of his eyelids and he sighs bodily, his forehead lowering to rest against hers. And then HE’S the one coming to his senses. She’s giving him an innocent kiss of gratitude and he’s imagining himself inside her. A wave of self-loathing swells in the pit of his stomach and he flinches back from her. She deserves better than his filthy imaginings. She, more than all the people he’s ever come across in his many years, deserves his respect. He steps from her arms stiffly, and clears his throat. “We should be getting back to the castle.” He’s about to magic them back into his demesne, when she once again steps closer and takes his hand. She looks up at him with concern as she says “Rumple, you’re shaking.”

His traitorous body leaps at her touch. Hard as a rock, and humiliated beyond measure, he envelops them in a purple cloud of magic. When her eyes blink open she is alone in her library and he is nowhere to be seen.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rumplestiltskin brings Belle a second child, and shares his story.

It’s several months before the next child arrives – long enough that she’s almost forgotten the ache the first child stirred in her breast. She reads a book in a chair by the fireplace, the soft creak of his spinning wheel soothing her spirits. This domestic scene has become their routine – he spins, she reads, and they while away the remains of the day in gentle, quiet companionship. She treasures this easy time spent together – when they converse, there are always stops and starts, missteps and stumbles. But in the silence they speak volumes to each other, and mutual understanding settles around them like a warm cloak. 

She becomes aware that the room has grown quieter, the sounds of his spinning dying away. She looks over her shoulder to see him rising. “It’s nearly time, Dearie,” he tells her. She raises a questioning eyebrow at him. Before he vanishes in a puff of purple smoke he reassures her “I’ll be back before you have time to miss me.” He means it as a joke, she thinks, but perhaps he knows. She does miss him when he’s gone. 

He’s not gone very long, this time. He materializes between her and the fireplace, his shadow falling over her reading. He holds a swaddled babe out to her; it takes her a moment to accept the impossibly new child. She doesn’t look up at him, because she knows there is begging in her eyes. Please. Let this one stay. But take the child she does. Belle is brave enough to walk towards heartbreak with her eyes open. He turns to go, but her voice stills him at the doorway “Will you join me by the fire, and speak with me, Rumplestiltskin?”

He turns his gaze back upon her and the child tucked to her breast, and she would almost swear she sees tenderness in his strange amber eyes. “If you wish it,” he answers as he sinks into the chair beside her. He is close enough to reach out and touch her, but he does not. He is not forward with his maid, though he wishes to be. He has grown desperately fond of her and he will not allow his desire to tarnish the gentle peace that has blossomed between them. It is thick, and strong and it keeps him up at night, but he is no mere love-sick boy. He keeps it under control in her presence. 

He speaks in a hushed voice, so as not to disturb the slumbering newborn, “What’s on your mind, Dearie?” 

“Where did you acquire the child? He seems very young.”

“Indeed. Born less than an hour ago. He’s royal, too. Just like you, Belle.”

“Was he...,” She remembers his sad, troubled eyes when he’d given her the first child “Unwanted?”

He pauses for a few moments, but he finds his voice “His mother felt they’d both be better off apart. She is a princess, destined for marriage to a sultan in Agrabah. But she got into trouble with one of her tutors. She was clever though, called me nearly eight months ago. I’ve kept her under a glamour – her parents, the court, all blissfully unaware of her condition. She called me when the pangs became rapid. I delivered her of the child, and brought him home to you.” He pulls a sapphire the size of an egg from his pocket and tosses it between his hands, smiling as the blue filtered light dances off her face. “Payment. Offered in exchange for the glamour, and a loving home for her unsanctioned get.” 

Belle looks up at him, softly stroking the child’s back. “You can conjure gems that lovely, and lovelier.” 

H stiffens slightly – they’re at one of those uncomfortable impasses where he finds himself too unmasked in her presence. More and more, he tries to be brave, if only with her. “It would be foolish to let word get out that I have a soft spot for innocent babes, don’t you think, Dearie? The Dark One should steal babes, not rescue them if he wishes to maintain his fearful reputation. And anyway, she didn’t need it. She’ll be ludicrously wealthy when she weds her sultan.”

She knows it makes him uncomfortable to be so forthright with her, so she returns the favor, “I can’t imagine giving up my child. How can she bear it?”

Another nerve, struck, and he struggles not to revert to anger and outburst. It is so much easier to take refuge in anger than to give in to sorrow and regret. “She wanted to keep him safe. At best, her family would have cast her out. It’s entirely possible they might have slain the babe, and his father, too. She did not wish so much blood on her hands.”

“It was a self-less act, then?”

“Aye. Her paramour will live, her son will be loved and cared for, and she will do her duty for her kingdom.”

“That’s so sad.”

He sighs, and she feels she has somehow said the wrong thing. “Do you feel kinship with her, Dearie? Sold off to strange man she does not know? Herself, and her happiness the only thing she has to sacrifice in defense of her homeland?” He tries to keep the bitterness in his tone at bay, but it seeps through. She looks up at him strangely. “If I have sacrificed anything, Rumplestiltskin, it is very small in comparison. She has sacrificed love and a child. I had neither of those things before I came to you.”

He studiously avoids thinking about the layers of meaning in her words, though it is difficult with those blue eyes staring up at him, so wide and guileless. He looks and looks, and does not break her gaze, even as he knows he has stared at her for longer than is polite. She turns her attention to the child, and breaths in the purity of its scent. “I hope the sultan is kind to her,” she tells him. “Perhaps, in time, she will come to love him.”

She catches a bright purple flash at the corner of her eye as he magics himself away, but she knows he has heard her.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Belle offers Rumplestiltskin a surprising deal.

The third child is the one that finally helps Belle decide to act. She has always been brave, or at least determined to act bravely, but this decision is by far the most difficult she has had to make. 

The two boys he handed into her care immediately, but not so with girl child. Belle stumbles across an unexpected scene as she makes her daily dusting rounds. Rumplestiltskin leans over a basinet, making soft cooing noises at what looks to be a year-old little girl. The child tries to stand, but falls back upon her chubby behind. Her face crinkles, heralding the arrival of tears, but he scoops her gingerly up and dandles her in the air. Tears forgotten, the baby giggles and grabs at his hair. She knows, then, why he is more tender with the girl. The boys cost him too much; he has lost a son. 

Belle feels guilty, catching him unawares. She doesn’t think he’d be so free with his affection if he knew his maid was skulking in the doorway. Still she isn’t one to just slip away. And it’s time to be brave. She knows if she waits for him to tell her his story, her bones will turn to dust with waiting. “You were a father, once.” A statement, not a question. She knows she’s right. 

He stiffens, and sets the girl child back in the basinet. He leans on the railing, and he does not turn to face his inquisitor. But he answers her, “I was.”

She wants to touch him, then. Wants to draw him into her arms, and stroke his back, and kiss away the tears she can hear in his voice. But she understands the importance of letting him come to her. He does now, more and more. It’s subtle and hard fought, but it IS there. She knows he wants to come to her, but he’s so very afraid. The most powerful sorcerer her world has ever seen, and he’s afraid to share his feelings with his maid. It would be humorous if it weren’t so heartbreaking. 

When he’s gotten himself under a firmer control, he turns to face her. His cheeks are dry, but his eyes are deep and haunted. She coaxes him gently, “What happened to him?”

He does not question how she knows he had a son – his maid is perceptive. He knows she can read him, a fact which both excites and terrifies him. He takes a deep breath, “I…lost him.” 

Belle has never been able to stand aside in the face of suffering. She moves to him swiftly, but he throws a hand up between them, warding her back. His fingers splay awkwardly. She recognizes this nervous tick of his, and has no patience for it. She bats his hand aside and wraps him in her arms. “I am sorry for your loss, Rumplestiltskin,” she tells him, her breath warm upon his cheek. She feels exquisite, pressed against him. She is warm, and kind, and he loves her. If he felt himself worthy of love, she would be his choice. He’d fall to his knees and beg her to stay with him of her free will instead of the shameful compulsion he thrust upon her. But he knows it would be folly. He’s too far gone now, more demon than man. Not even a heart as tender as hers could love him. 

Still, he takes comfort from her, where he can. He relaxes in her arms, breathes in her scent, and imagines for just a moment that they could stay like this forever. “Thank you, Belle.” She pulls back at the sound of her name on his lips. When he calls her Dearie, he uses many tones and inflections. He can tease, or mock, or shut her out. But her name, he always whispers like a prayer. She brings her hand to his cheek, fingers caressing the strange, green-gold flesh she no longer thinks of as strange. Her touch sends tendrils of desire cascading through his torso, traveling lower to stir his flesh. He fears she’ll feel him harden, pressed so close to him as she is. With a sigh he drops his hands to her waist, easing her back from his wiry frame. He would not offend her with his lusts. He knows there are whispers through the kingdom that he has debauched her from the first, but there are lines he will not cross. She is sacrosanct to him, even as her most innocent touches threaten to enflame him. 

He means to extricate himself from her, to leave her to the child, but his hands don’t seem to respond to his directives. They continue to linger on her waist, as he finds himself lost in her impossibly blue eyes. He doesn’t know how long they stand there – only that it is too long to be proper. His breath hitches. He feels trapped, afraid he’s close to doing something irreversibly foolish, like pulling her back against his chest, and pressing his lips to hers in a kiss that leaves no doubt as to his intentions. He is saved from disaster by a loud gurgle emanating from the basinet. He breaks away from her, gathering the laughing child up. He offers her to Belle, who holds her close to her heart with a smile. 

She’s a natural with children, he thinks. A thought whispers at the edges of his consciousness; he could let her keep one. It would interfere with her cleaning duties, of course. In fact, it’d make even more of a mess of his castle – children, he knows, leave chaos in their wake. Still, if he’s honest, he never brought her here to clean. He was simply lonely. And it might make her happy. She might learn to think of his castle as home. She might be a step closer to the life she was destined to lead, if his selfish deal hadn’t snatched away any hope she might have had for a family of her own. 

“Hello, little one,” She whispers. The delighted child flails her arms about, fat fists yanking on Belle’s chocolate curls. He marvels at the genuine smile that breaks across Belle’s lovely face. He likes to see her happy, his maid who is more than a maid. Perhaps it is in his power to make her happier yet. 

“Belle…”

“Yes, Rumple?”

“I..would you…”

His eloquence fails him, and he’s nearly lost his nerve when the child blurts out “Mama!” 

Belle’s face falls as she looks down at the little girl. When she looks back to Rumplestiltskin, she is bereft. The look of sadness on her face makes his heart ache. Ever the coward, he turns on his heel and makes for the door. But the child has made up her mind for her. Belle calls to him, “Rumplestiltskin…wait.”

He screws his courage to the sticking place and rejoins her as she sets the child back in the basinet. He can tell she is lost in contemplation, so he waits for her to speak. It is several moments before she finds her voice – he is deeply uncomfortable, but he stays by her side. He owes her that, and so much more. “Rumplestiltskin…” 

“Yes, Dearie? What…what is it you want, Belle?” he manages, lamely. And then she squares her shoulders and faces him bravely. She flushes – she is always lovely, but he thinks she is at her prettiest when she struggles to be brave. “I want a child.”

He relaxes slightly – she isn’t asking to leave him. That fear always hovers in his mind. He does not think he could bear losing her. But a child. He could let her keep a child. It is in his power to do such a thing.

“You…wish to keep this child?”

Her courage falters slightly and her gaze drops from his. It worries him. He reaches for her hand, but she steps back. In a small voice she whispers, “I would have my own child.” 

“Magic can do much, dearie, but you still need two to make a child.” His mind reels. She IS asking to leave him. 

“I have already promised you forever – I have little else to offer. But I have a deal for you, Rumplestiltskin.” 

He can barely stand to hear her out. There is nothing she can offer him that would convince him to let her leave to start a family. But he is afraid he’ll let her go, anyways. Because he loves her, and her happiness means more to him than his own. Fear clutches his heart and he has to fight to keep anger from flaring in his chest. When he replies there is an edge to his voice. 

“You would go back on your deal? What could you possibly have left to offer me, dearie, that would convince me to set you free?”

“You misunderstand me, Rumplestiltskin. I don’t ask to leave. I would never break my vow to you.” 

He is ashamed at the wave of relief that courses over him. But he is still on edge – he doesn’t understand what she’s asking and it unnerves him. He bites back an acerbic comment, and sighs. His voice is almost a whisper when he addresses her, “Tell me your deal, Belle.”

She reaches out to him, stroking her thumb over the back of his hand. Their eyes meet, and he again finds himself fighting the urge to kiss her. 

“Give me a child, Rumplestiltskin, and I will give you my maidenhead.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rumple is taken off guard by Belle's offer.

He tries very hard to speak, but words completely fail him. He doesn’t know what he expected her to offer, but it wasn’t this. Not her willingly in his bed. Not the virtue he has so studiously avoided offending, even as his flesh stirs to attention at her slightest touch. Images of her writhing beneath him flicker across his mind. Nude. Flushed. Panting for him. He shudders and pulls away from her. It is obscene. And it’s not what she’s proposing, either. She wants a child, not a lover. Unfortunately for her, she can’t have one without the other, and thanks to their initial deal it’s him or no deal at all. He snatches his hand from her grasp and stumbles back. He’s afraid he’s going to be sick. His cheeks color with shame. And still – he can’t form a sentence to save his life.

Belle reaches out to him, speaking gently, as if to a frightened animal. “Rumple?” Her hand settles gingerly on his arm, but he shrinks away. He feels the wall behind him brush his back and he realizes he has continued to retreat from her like the despicable coward he is. He sags against the wall and lets his gaze settle at her feet. Gradually his breath calms and he allows his eyes to move up her body, finally meeting her own. Gods, she is lovely, even with concern darkening her features. And he…he’s nearly ruined her with his selfishness. He gathers the tattered remnants of his courage and speaks, “I didn’t realize, at the time, just how much I was taking from you, Belle.”

“What have you taken from me, Runplestiltskin?”

“Your family.”

“All of whom would be dead if you hadn’t rescued them from the Ogres.”

“Your intended.”

“I didn’t love him.”

“You might have learned to.”

“Because of you, I didn’t have to”

“Your children, then.” Finally she falls silent, and he knows he’s hit his mark. “You’re so desperate for a child, you’d swell your belly with a monster’s get.”

He flinches as her hand rises, expecting the stinging slap he so richly deserves. Instead her fingers ghost over his cheek with a surprising tenderness.

“You’re not a monster.”

He wants so badly to kiss her. To let her gather him in her arms and convince him that he belongs there. But he’s been selfish enough. And even more than he wants her, he wants to do right by her.

“Even as I man, I wouldn’t have been worthy of you.”

He peels her hand from his face and presses a chaste kiss to her upturned palm. 

“Rumple…”

“Give me time to think, Belle,” he whispers as he slips past her. But he doesn’t need time to think. He’s already made the hard choice. All he needs is time to prepare.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

An hour later, he finds her reading in the library. “Here’s a tip, Dearie. The insides of the books don’t actually get very dusty!” He tries to quip, but it falls flat. There is too much unfinished business between them to escape into easy humor. She closes her book, giving him her full attention. Her expression is somber as she waits for him to speak.

“I need straw.”

Her blue eyes widen and she chokes out, “What?”

“Straw, dearie. I need to spin, and I’m nearly out of straw.”

He’s too animated, his voice too light. Gone, the conflicted creature who’d slunk away from her. A flippant mask obscures his features once more. It unnerves her. She knew her proposal might shock him, possibly even anger him, but he seems to be ignoring the issue completely. He’s hiding from her. 

“Rumple…can we talk?”

“No time now, dearie! Not if you wish to be off the road by nightfall!”

“I don’t understand.”

He puts on a thick cockney drawl, teasing as he asks, “Is me accent too fick for ya? You’re to go inta town an’ fetch me straw!”

“Into town?”

“Now you’re catching on!”

And she is catching on. He’s giving her a chance to run. “Rumple, please, can we just…”

And in a heartbeat he’s across the room, close enough that she can feel the heat emanating from his wiry frame. He thrusts a coin purse and a muslin sack into her hands. “Straw is awfully expensive this time of year. You’ll need plenty of coin. See, here? Just untie this purse, and shake it out into your hand. Try it for me, Belle.” His mask is slipping. She can see his emotion in the slight tremble of his hands. She does as he asks, shaking several fat gold coins into her palm. He smiles, but she sees the sadness underneath as he whispers, “Good girl. Just like that. The purse will never empty. You could shake it out for days, and never find the bottom. You’ll have more than enough to…purchase straw.” 

Her heart races, as her mind reads between the lines. He’s letting her go. “Oh, Rumple.”

He’s agitated now, trying to keep his nerve up. Trying to pretend like it’s the most normal thing in the world to hand a fortune over to his maid and send her out the door. He grasps the muslin sack, and thrusts his hand inside. He pulls out a bright red apple and takes a bite. “You’ll have to keep your strength up on the walk into town. Just think of whatever nourishment you desire, reach in, and pull it out. Show me, Belle.” 

“Please, I can’t…”

“Course you can, dearie. Course you can.” He takes her hand in his, and pulls it into the bag. A hint of desperation colors his tone. “This is important. Concentrate, sweetheart.” The magic shivers over their joined hands; he feels an object materialize as the sacks falls away - Steaming hot tea. The cup containing it is chipped. He stares at the blue & white porcelain cradled between them, and his mask slips a little further. He takes the cup and turns away from her. He clears his throat, his voice suddenly gone thick. “The village just down the road might not have what you’re looking for. If you follow the road past the river another two miles, you’ll come across another village. It’s a bit larger. Perhaps, you’ll find what you’re looking for there.”

“Straw?”

He snaps his fingers; an embroidered traveling cloak materializes in a puff of purple smoke. He finally turns back to her, and settles it around her shoulders. He doesn’t look her in the eye as he carefully ties a bow at her throat. He stares past her as he draws the hood over her auburn curls. “This cloak will hide you from any who might wish you harm. Don’t take it off on the road, Belle.”

“Rumple…”

“Promise me.”

She knows she’s not getting through to him. In his mind, she’s already long gone. Nothing she can say will convince him now, so she merely nods in acquiescence. 

“Good. Good. You…best be on your way, then.”

She secrets the magic bags away in the pockets of her cloak and turns to go. She’s completely caught off guard when pulls her into a tight embrace. He cleaves to her like a drowning man. His hands stroke over her back once, twice, then travel on to delicately cradle her face. He presses a reverent kiss to her forehead, whispering “Goodbye, Belle. Thank you…for everything.”   
Before she can utter a response, he disappears into thin air. She feels tears on her cheeks, but can’t decide if they belong to her, or him. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

There are no tears as he paces in his tower. He feels strangely desiccated, as if all the life has been sucked out of him. He is a dry husk. Lifeless. Brittle. Still, there is a small spark of pride left in him. For the first time in many decades, he has done the right thing. 

He expends a great deal of effort in not thinking about what he’s lost. He most certainly does not dwell on thoughts of her soft flesh parting for him in welcome. He does not close his eyes and strain to hear the soft exhalations of breath she would make as he finds the dense little bundle of nerves crowning her apex. He avoids musing what she must taste like. He doesn’t imagine his name bursting forth from her lips as he brings her to climax. He exerts tremendous effort in keeping such thoughts at bay; he fails spectacularly.

It’s been a few hours since she left, but it feels like a lifetime. Long enough. Surely, for her to find a handsome stranger. To wed. To bear the child she dreams about. To be happy. And while his heart is broken, he finds a kind of joy in the knowledge that he has given back a small measure of what he took from her. 

Loss renders him exhausted, and he reclines in a leather armchair. He closes his eyes for just a moment, and suddenly, she is back. He’s dreaming, of course, and he knows it. But he doesn’t fight this time. She’s gone, and he can’t hurt her anymore, so what’s the harm in indulging in a little dream? He smiles at her, instead of smirking. A genuine smile that turns up both corners of his lips. “Back so soon, Belle?”

Suddenly, he is startled awake. There is a hand on his shoulder. A small, delicate, tender hand. He inhales sharply, catching the subtle scent of the lavender soap she favors. It can’t be her. She can’t have returned. And yet, she swims into view as he scrambles up from his chair. His neck is stiff. He must have been napping for hours. 

Belle smiles at him, proffering a basket filled to brim with straw. “Would you believe my good fortune? They had plenty of straw in the closest village.”

“You…came back. Why did you come back?” 

“We have a deal to discuss, Rumplestiltskin.” 

His throat goes dry. His hands tremble. He doesn’t trust his voice. He is not brave. Nonetheless, he decides to do the brave thing.   
He takes her hand. He clears his throat. He tells her, “That we do, Belle. That we do.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A spell is keyed to her will.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this has taken so long - real life, as always, likes to demand more and more of me. I hope you enjoy this nice long chapter.

This time, he doesn’t run from her, though every instinct in his body is screaming that he should. He concentrates on holding her hand, gently stroking his thumb over her knuckles in an effort to calm himself. He knows she’s not toying with him. Belle is kinder than Cora ever was. Cora, with her name like broken glass and ambition so keen she removed her own heart rather than spare him any soft feelings. Cora, who had promised to carry his child, but came to her senses in time. It hurt him, hurts him still, but he has never blamed her. 

He’s brought back to the present as Belle stills his hand and gives it a little squeeze. He meets her gaze, which is serious but unshaken. He looks at her a long time, but she does not reproach him. She threads her fingers through his, and pulls him closer. Without his bidding, his free hand rises, sweeping a stray curl back from her alabaster cheek. He despises the contrast of his strange, scaled ugliness against her smooth skin. How she keeps her revulsion at bay, he will never know. 

“How would you bear it, Belle?”

“Bear what?”

“I would give you a child of your own without subjecting you to my touch, but that is beyond even my power.”

She raises their intertwined hands, turns them gently as the light plays over their vastly different skins. 

“Your touch is not a burden to be borne, Rumplestiltskin.” 

He’d like to believe her, but he fears it’ll be different in the confines of her room, on her sheets, in his arms. He fears repulsion will bubble up from some secret female place of her, telling her no, not this one, this one who is tainted and unfit to breed. But even that rejection is not his greatest fear. He is familiar enough with humiliation to endure it himself, but he could not bear passing his stigma along to an innocent. 

“And…the child. You could...care for such a child? Even though it came from me?” 

Surprise colors her features. “How can you doubt it? I would love your child with the whole of my heart.”

He knows he can’t deny her, then. Not even as he fears the easy familiarity between them may be shattered for good. He will do his best to make her happy, even if the price is losing her friendship. She will love his child. It will be enough.

His heart shudders in his chest like a rabbit racing for its life, but he slows his breathing enough to speak. “I accept your deal, Belle.” 

She rewards him with a smile so radiant he can almost pretend she might love him, too. He extricates his hand from hers and puts some space between them. He wants a clearer head as they lay down details. 

“I can use magic to make sure it…catches the first time. You’ll not have to fear a second...ordeal.”

“No magic. I would conceive naturally.” He sighs, but her tone brooks no argument. He imagines she’ll change her mind when faced with the reality of their copulation, but it is no matter. The spell is simple and he will have it at the ready should she ask.

“You should pick the day then, when conception is most likely to occur. Were you taught how such things work, or do you require a midwife to determine…”

“Tonight.”

His mouth goes dry. “So…so soon? Are you certain the timing is…?”

“I’d like to bathe, first. Take a few moments to prepare myself…for you.”

He nods curtly. He is nervous as hell, but determined to see things through with at least a modicum of dignity. 

“Where…do you wish to have done with it? There are many empty bedrooms in the castle if you’d be more comfortable on neutral ground.”

“My chambers will suffice.”

He questions her wisdom internally, but does not give voice to his concerns. He wonders if she will regret bringing him into her sanctuary, if the memory of her deflowering will sour her feelings towards the very room itself. 

“I require time to…prepare as well. If I come to you when the clock chimes eight, will that be acceptable?”

She nods, and presses a fleeting kiss to his cheek. The deal is struck. He has much to do. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

He creates the spell from scratch, though he has several potions in his apothecary that would have worked just as well. He chops and grinds, measures and stirs, grateful for the distraction. There is a shameful excitement stirring low in his belly – even now he is semi-erect and keenly aware of the constricting laces of his trousers – but brewing helps keep his worries at bay. He will need two potions this evening. One is a simple tincture to ensure his body cooperates. Though he does not think his flesh will fail him, he would prefer to spare her the sight of him working his cock to attention, and would never think of asking her help in such an endeavor. He secrets the vial away, praying he doesn’t need it. The second potion is more complex, and requires the whole of his attention. It bubbles violently in his cauldron, then suddenly ceases to stir, coalescing into a viscous, shining gold. He reaches for the vessel closest to hand, a familiar chipped tea cup, and dips into the cauldron. He drinks deeply of the golden liquid, feels its subtle warmth diffusing through the whole of his wiry frame. His flesh shudders slightly, though not unpleasantly, and he knows the potion has done its work. He glances at the hourglass atop his work bench – the sands are nearly run. He has just enough time to bathe and dress before he must go to Belle’s chamber. Before he takes her in his arms and divests her of her maidenhead. Before he puts a child in her belly. It is madness, and very likely folly, but he is powerless to resist. He’d rip his own heart out to make her smile. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The walk to her room is hard, but he makes it. As the clock chimes eight he screws up his courage and knocks softly on her door. She opens almost instantly; he suspects she was already standing on the other side of her door, awaiting him. He has never seen her in such a state of undress. She wears a light robe over a simple linen shift. Still modestly attired, but there is something undeniably erotic about seeing her in her simple nightclothes. Her full lips part, forming a moue of surprise as she takes in his appearance. 

Ashy hair hangs softly to his collar. Gone are his green-gold scales, giving way instead to the mundane flesh-tone of the common man. He is dressed in a royal blue coat with intricate embroidery. He wove the impossibly fine thread as a boy, his aunts working in tandem needlepoint to prepare the luxurious garment. It was wedding attire for a lord. Rumple the child looked upon it with such awe. Rumple the man could still recall the patterns in detail, hundreds of years later, though the original garment had no doubt turned to dust. 

Belle, struck silent for once, reaches out and strokes her fingers over his human cheek. By way of explanation he offers, “I thought you might prefer to give your virtue to a man, not a beast.”

“Is this your true face?”

“It’s only a glamour. The effects will wear off in a few hours. But yes, this was my face when I was a man.”

She smiles so brightly at him, he fears his heart will burst. “You’re quite handsome.”

He removes her hand from his face, but does not let go. “And you…are very kind. But there is more to the glamour.” He guides her hand inside his collar, pressing her hand flat to the skin above his heart. She makes no effort to pull away, and he marvels at her trusting nature. “I wished to make this as easy for you as possible. This spell is keyed to your will, Belle. You have merely to imagine whatever face you find most pleasing, and it will be so.” Surely, there is some courtier she found dashing, some stable boy or footman for whom she nursed a girlish crush. It’s not a perfect solution he knows, but it is the best he has to offer. She looks at him strangely for a moment, but she does not remove her hand from his chest. When she finally speaks, her voice is heavy with emotion. “Thank you, Rumplestiltskin.” And then she shuts her eyes and he feels the spell’s tendrils stir. He tries not to wince as the magic rolls over him, his features shifting into another countenance. He doesn’t blame her – he created the spell to be used. But some small, secret part of him had hoped, however futilely, that perhaps his human face might be enough. He is glad the mirrors in her room are covered. He has no desire to know whose face he wears now. The spell complete, he takes her hand from his chest and leads her to the bed. No amount of waiting will make him braver. Once there, she turns her back to him and undoes the fastening of her robe. She looks at him over her shoulder and he reaches forward to help divest her of the garment. He lays it across the chair in the corner of the room, trying to ignore the way the sheer linen shift clings to her lithe young body. He fails spectacularly, taking in the silhouette of her rosy nipples visible through the thin fabric. He wants desperately to cup her breast, to feel the soft, heavy weight of it in his palm, but he restrains himself. She is there to procure a child, not take a lover. 

“Will you recline on the bed?” She does as bidden, lying back into the many pillows that adorn her headboard. He recalls the first pillow he gave her, and is ashamed for the unkind words with which he delivered it. These pillows were not given to her to silence her cries, but merely because her comfort has come to mean the world to him. She looks up at him expectantly, a soft blush staining her cheeks, and there is no hint of fear in her expression. He is suddenly grateful to whatever man has lent him his face for the evening. He sits at the foot of the bed, her ankle within his easy reach. He studies the floor as he contemplates how to proceed. Perhaps the quickest way would be best? Throw back the little vial, move swiftly between her legs, touch her as little as possible? He decides against it immediately. Quick it might be, but also painful, and probably frightening. The thought of causing her pain turns his stomach. He decides the best course of action, however difficult, is to speak to her. She should have the choice, after all. 

“Belle…you’ve been educated on what is to come, yes?”

She laughs, gently, surely not at him. “I am well read.”

“You know there is often pain, the first time.” Out of his peripheral vision he sees her nod. “It will go easier if you’re…readied.” He takes a deep breath, and finishes his thought, “May I touch you, Belle?”

“Please.”

He reaches for her whisper thin night dress, easing it up from her ankles. He makes eye contact with her – it makes him deeply uncomfortable, but he wants to assure her that she’s safe with him. That he does this to ease things for her, even as his cock grows painfully hard at the thought of touching her most intimate places. He strokes her calves gently, soothingly, as he continues to raise her shift. He feels it rise over her thighs, feels the warmth of her flesh close to his fingertips. He steels himself, and allows his eyes to travel from her face. His stomach falls as he sees his hand hovering a breath away from her exposed sex. His green-gold, scaled hand, an instant away from parting her lips. He lurches back off the bed, his voice cracking as he spews apologizes. “I’m…I’m so sorry, Belle. The spell seems to have…failed. I…I’m so sorry.” Cowardly, he knows, but he can’t face her now, not when he’s bollocksed up the glamour and reverted to his inhuman appearance. He knew it was a mistake. Knew he’d disappoint her. Knew it could only end badly. 

His hand is on the doorknob when her voice stays him. “Rumplestiltskin, wait!” The forcefulness of her tone shocks him into compliance, but he still can’t manage to face her. She closes the gap, between them, pressing her chest to his back as she wraps her arms around him. A soft voice in his ear tells him, “You’re shaking.” 

“I…I don’t know what I did wrong, Belle. The potion…”

“You told me it would show me any face I desired.”

“And it should have. I felt the magic on my skin. I felt the change. I don’t know how it failed…” he finishes lamely. She lets him go, coming around to face him, but he is unable to look her in the eye. He doesn’t know if she’s looking at him with disgust or pity but he can’t bear either. And then her hand is on his heart, and she’s reaching out to draw the dust cloth off her mirror. She whispers, “Rumplestiltskin, look.”

He meets his reflection in the mirror, the dark eyes and green skin staring back at him. And Belle is beside him, smiling, her hand on his heart. “I will have you, Rumplestiltskin, and no other.” 

When he finds his voice, it is barely a whisper. “You can’t mean that.”

“I can and I do.” 

And now she is the one that leads. He lets her, so stunned as he is by her revelation. He can’t quite comprehend how such a thing could be true, but he has never known his spells to falter, and he has never known her to lie. She sinks into the soft embrace of her bed without relinquishing his hand. He has no choice but to follow her. They are closer now than before. His side is pressed against her, And the closeness is intoxicating. Seemingly of its own volition, his hand moves to the side of her face, softly stroking back and forth over her cheekbone. 

“You are so beautiful.” The words escape his lips before he can think better of them, but Belle’s gentle smile assures him he has done nothing wrong. She turns towards his touch, her full lips ghosting across his knuckles. He wants desperately to kiss her, but he doesn’t want to risk putting her off. She’s already been more accepting of him than he could ever have imagined – if the evening ended here he would still count himself lucky. But it doesn’t end.  
“Rumple, you said that you would see me readied.”

His breath hitches but he recovers his composure. “That I did, Belle.”

“Then ready me.”

He screws up his courage, and does as his lady bids. His fingers stroke softly along her thighs, and she shifts slightly to allow him further passage. He continues and her eyes flutter closed. He takes the opportunity to memorize the way she looks under his ministrations. He’ll remember the way she looks now after the stars burn out. His fingers trace lazy circles against her sex, occasionally sliding between her soft folds to test her wetness. He feels her grow slick, listening to her breath as it comes more rapidly. She’s ready for him. He could take her now, and he knows it would be bearable for her. But it’s not enough for him. He wants more. He wants to watch her come undone under his touch. If this is the only time they ever come together in this way, he will at least have the memory of it burning in his heart. He quickens his pace, and Belle opens her eyes. She looks lost, and he knows he has her on the brink of completion. He whispers to her, “Just let it wash over you, Belle.” And then she is crying out, spasming against his fingertips, and the sound of her pleasure is the most beautiful thing he’s ever heard. He pulls her close to him, feels her heart thundering against him as her climax subsides. It is several moments before she’s able to form a coherent sentence. Rumple shudders as her lips brush the curve of his ear. ‘I thought we agreed no magic.” 

“Not magic, sweetheart. Our bodies are made for pleasure, man and woman alike.”

“Will you take me now?”

“If you still wish it. Things need go no further, if you’ve…”

“Take me.”

And he does. In a moment he is astride her, and sheathed. What slight pain there is, passes quickly, replaced by a now familiar heat that grows as he moves inside her. He tries to keep a slow and steady rhythm but it has been so very long. And more than that – it’s never been with someone he’s cared for so deeply. He knows he won’t last long, so he reaches between their joined bodies, determined to bring her another wave of pleasure before he spends himself. Her flesh shudders around him, and he whispers “I’m nearly there, Belle.” 

And then her lips seek his and he finds release. It’s overwhelming, to be kissed. There is powerful magic in it, and he breaks the kiss before he can truly know the extent of it. He presses his forehead against hers, and the connection is somehow even more intimate than the joining of their bodies. Now she strokes his check; he has never been more grateful for a tenderness. 

Eventually nature takes its course. He softens and withdraws with only the slightest twinge of regret. He’d like to stay with her, but that wasn’t part of their deal. She has delivered her half of the bargain – time will tell if he has followed through with his. With a final kiss to her forehead, he rises, righting his garments as he prepares to go. Her hand catches his and squeezes. He’s caught there. Unable to go, but far too frightened to ask to stay. Belle does the brave thing and asks for him. 

“Do you have to go?”

He tries to match her bravery, and so her tells her the truth. “I don’t know how to stay, Belle.” 

“Would you like to learn?”

His mouth goes dry, and his voice grows thin, but he answers her. “Oh yes.”

He can’t fathom why she smiles at him so brightly, but she does, and it is enough.


End file.
